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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28700712">Of The Golden</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/electroholic/pseuds/electroholic'>electroholic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Dont worry they’re fixed easily, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hybrid TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Serious Injuries, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), you’ll see what I mean</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:48:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,654</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28700712</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/electroholic/pseuds/electroholic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy sprouted from the ground, golden sunlight freckling his skin. He doesn’t know and may never know where he came from. </p><p>The first incident happens when a stranger stumbles upon him, leaving with a scar and a satisfaction that unnerved Tommy. </p><p>The second was pure clumsiness on his part, he hadn’t looked close enough. </p><p>It wouldn’t be as difficult if his village didn’t keep receiving visits from SMP players.</p><p> </p><p>Tl;dr: Tommy has magic of his own and these damn players won’t leave him alone.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream &amp; TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Darryl Noveschosch &amp; TommyInnit, GeorgeNotFound &amp; TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit &amp; Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Tommyinnit &amp; The Villagers, to - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>987</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Completed stories I've read, personal allstars</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Of The Golden</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This has been marinating in my notes for months oh my god. I wanted to post something and I’ve adored the work for so long holy crap. </p><p>Pls write more Tommyinnit angst I’m starving for things to read. Pls,, I’m begging. I’ve added my piece now it’s your turn. </p><p>This is so far back in my notes it’s 48/117 oneshots and I’ve finished ten of them minimum I can’t keep to one idea hELP. </p><p>Also,, trigger warning: the self harm mentioned isn’t an addiction but it’s very graphic, not that gory though.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy’s always known he’s special, known it since he sprouted from the ground with golden sunlight freckling his skin.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Something about the colour gold had always entranced and disgusted him, he didn’t know why he was so conflicted about something so mundane, after all it wasn’t worth much with diamonds and netherite around. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He grew up as a tree, nurtured by the earth around him and loved by the animals that paw at his golden veins with fierce protection. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The colour gold first made sense to him when he’d been presented with his greatest curse. The golden apple. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It had been a traveller who gave it to him, exchanging it for nothing but a suspicious expression and a reflexive cut down their arm. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The first time he had a golden apple was something he was bound to never forget, plagued with the memories of glowing hair and rapidly healing wounds. Flowers filled his hair, shades of clementine and lemon. The horns that had never been more than stubs underneath his spring of golden curls sprouted outwards, spiralling off his head while adorning butterscotch swirls that blended in with the caramel keratin-wrapped bones. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The tears that dripped from his fearful eyes that day turned to gold in his hands. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">His hair had glowed for days, lighting the floor beneath him with a light that even the sun couldn’t mould. Plants had sprouted beneath the nightly glow and in daylight the animals had sung praises as they trailed after him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The horns didn’t disappear with the glow and Tommy didn’t know what to do. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He walked around with horns for years, hiding in trees when hunters passed and players fought at his feet. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He hadn’t had a golden apple since the first time, hadn’t wanted to be exposed to the curse again and risk being captured to be used. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">His hair had long stopped glowing but it was a honey lighter than before, the glitter that danced in between the strands only showed faintly after the sun had set. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The first time he heard commotion near his land, he visited the closest village to get a grasp of what he was supposed to look like, covered in a cloak. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He must’ve looked suspicious to all those around him but that was alright. He had plenty of “gold” to trade with and got himself some shears, as well as some bread. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He’d never had bread, he’d grown up on berry bushes and fish of all kinds down by the river. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">It was after this trip that </span> <span class="s3">the river</span> <span class="s2"> became </span> <em><span class="s3">his river</span> <span class="s2">. </span></em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">After he had broken his shears and every scrap of metal to cut his horns off at the stump, the waters had flowed gold with the ashes of his once horn. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He kept one of his horns, finding it strong enough to cut through wood when he had pried it off and it had flown, sticking into the bark of the elder tree he’d grown up by. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Prying the horn away found to be easier than it seemed. Maybe the horn just knew who he was. Maybe the horn knew that it was still part of Tommy after all. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The tree was left marred with medallion lines to never be explained. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He carved the horn into a sword. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The stumps of his horns were invisible in his hair and no one would ever get close enough to touch his hair and find out the truth of what lay beneath the honey spring atop of his head. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Any scars he had turned to silver but that was easy to play off as them being too exposed to the sun and having gained a shine in his many years of daylight. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Everything else was easy enough to hide when he discovered his love of mining and farming. He’d end up smothered in soot and dirt, the glitter vanished beneath the layers of it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Meeting Dream was an odd experience. Tommy had never interacted with a player, he barely interacted with the villagers and never the hunters voluntarily. It was only a few days after Tommy had shaved off his horns. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Dream had been in the village, looking at emeralds and stock when Tommy had literally fell out of bed, the tree he had been sleeping in, in front of him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tommy had sat up, rubbing at his eyes in tired acceptance when Dream had offered him a hand. Tommy had frowned at the gesture, not used to anyone besides animals voluntarily approaching him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He hadn’t accepted the hand. If he’d learnt anything in his years of survival thus far it was that you never reach for a potential threat and towering over Tommy with his porcelain mask in place, Dream looked like more than a threat. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Hello,” Dream had greeted after a moments hesitance, pulling his hand back as the words spilled out. “I’m Dream.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tommy knew who he was, Tommy knew all the players names. He also knew that players were never to be interacted with, at least thats what the villagers had said when they first questioned him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">But Tommy wasn’t a villager. He also wasn’t a hunter who chased after the animals in search of food (he understood they had to hunt but hated it anyways). </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tommy wasn’t even really human. Even then, some of the Hunter’s were also animals, predators; He wasn’t an animal either. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tommy wasn’t either. So how should he approach a player. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Of course he knew that he was valuable, a source of never-ending riches but no one besides him knew that. He didn’t think anyone else like him even existed, no, he was sure of it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“What’s your name?” Dream inquired, following Tommy who hadn’t acknowledged his presence in the markets. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Tommy.” His answers would be short and precise, he had decided. There is no chance he can risk letting others know more than they should, more than he allowed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Which SMP are you from?” Dream questioned. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tommy had turned to him, stunned at the observation that wasn’t there. “I’m not a player.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Dream had eyed him sharply then, suspicion on his tongue as he said, “But you have the mark of a player.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I have no marks,” Tommy replied factually. It was impossible for him to have any marks. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You look more unique than the villagers and you’re not a Hunter, so who are you?” Dream reached for his sword. Thus Tommy reached for his, carved from his own bone. Even when growing alone and safe in the leaves, he had to learn to fight lest he be defenceless when he inevitably leaves. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I’m just Tommy.” He ground out. This frustrated him not only because this Dream was prying but he also thought he had the right and Tommy couldn’t answer what he was himself. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Dream sighed and sheathed his sword again, stepping back as he held his hands up in surrender. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tommy turned and walked away, too tired to deal with anyone other than the animals right then. It didn’t matter what Dream wanted to say, Tommy couldn’t hear him over his throbbing head from where his broken horns were moaning in agony. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He finds out something new about himself when he’s nursing an injured fox up in his tree canopy. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">His hands ache with bruises embedded in the skin from where the fox has bitten him toothlessly, never breaking skin but not for lack of trying.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">A hunter had been nearby that day, shooting at anything and everything he could spit. He would’ve gotten to Tommy if he wasn’t in the nearest town over collecting potions for his next winter in hunter season. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The fox was whining in his arms when it bit down into his arm. Tommy hissed and pushed the fox away while being as gentle as possible. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">His eyes widened as the fox’s injuries disappeared before his eyes, the missing limb being fully replaced and like brand new. There wasn’t even a scar when Tommy checked, just a silver line in the fox’s fur. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The fox was gone when he looked up, a trail of golden dust in its wake. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tommy only hoped it couldn’t trace anyone back to him as he looked down at the gold seeping out of the healing wound on his arm. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The next time he encountered a player, they were covered in soot and smelled of otherworldly embers. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tommy knew fires, but just because he knew them doesn’t mean he liked them. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Fires had destroyed his home many times and he’d taken weeks growing it all back. He grew it all back no matter what and he grew it better than nature ever could. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The short one with black hair seemed to actually have been injured by the fire though, his arm sloppily wrapped in a bandage. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tommy hesitated before quickly running back to his canopy and grabbing a healing potion. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Potions were one of Tommy’s many fortes, he could brew them fast and efficiently. He spent many a day in the nether gathering ingredients that he couldn’t find in the village and knew first hand how brutal it could be in there, his visits to the nether were as scarce as he could make them. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">While knowing potions, Tommy also knew how difficult they were to get your hands on, or even the ingredients. The only reason he had a brewing stand was because he spent weeks farming to trade with the villagers who gladly got rid of it. It had brought many horrors here to steal it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The brewing stand was safe with Tommy, safe because no one knew him or where he lived. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tapping the man on the back, he stepped back instinctively as he spun around and pointed a crossbow at Tommy’s neck. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tommy curled his lip slightly before holding the potion out, the thick liquid casting a red shadow onto the floor as the sun shone through the glass. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Oh, Tommy,” Dream greeted, waving awkwardly. There last interaction hadn’t been the best after all. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You know this kid?” The other man asked, his arm dropping as he turned to Dream with the look of a kicked puppy. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I’m not a kid,” Tommy replied. He wasn’t a kid, at nearing twelve years old he hadn’t been a kid for a long time. Besides, he wasn’t entirely human so there’s no possible way he was even genetically a child. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“How old are you then?” The man inquired, smiling at him in amusement. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Eleven.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You are literally a child.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“What’ve you got there?” Dream cut in, sensing the rising tension in the way Tommy’s eyes narrowed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“A healing potion, for your arm.” Tommy was talking straight to the new player as he said this. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Is it really?” The man asked, hesitantly taking the potion from his open palm. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Yes.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“He’s not lying,” Dream piped in. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The new man frowned slightly before opening the bottle and drinking it. They waited a few seconds before the man unwrapped his arm, showing that there wasn’t even a scar where the burn was. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Thank you,” the man said. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“No problem,” Tommy shrugged, turning around to walk away. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Hey! Wait!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“What is it?” Tommy turned back. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The man extended a hand to him, “I’m Sapnap.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tommy stared at his hand for a minute before shaking it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“That’s a stupid name.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The first time Tommy’s heart stopped beating, he realised something wasn’t quite right with him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The sword stuck out of his chest, the point shone tauntingly in front of his eyes as gold poured down his face from the sockets. He looked to the man behind him, face scrunched in pain and he tried his best to glare at the man. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The man stared agape at him, reaching out to reach Tommy’s face, but before he could Tommy turned to dust, crumbling away against his twisted intents. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He woke up in his canopy, breathing heavily as he pulled up his shirt, sure that he’d only had a nightmare. He was wrong, that was no nightmare. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">There on his stomach was a silver line in the centre of his stomach, edges lined in gold and this would be so much harder to hide than the nicks on his fingers. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He ran back to the clearing that he died in, finding the man bottling the golden dust his body had disintegrated into. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tommy raised his arms above his head and thrusted down. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The man didn’t wake up and Tommy took back his ashes with no pride or guilt. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He met George when he was fishing. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The man had stumbled into the clearing, clearly sweating up a storm as he scrambled towards the river, filling up an empty water bottle. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tommy had ignored the man, of course. It wasn’t unusual for players to come around here anymore. As much as he loathed their presence, he couldn’t stop them. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The man had slumped down besides him, panting as he chugged his water. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tommy let him be, continuing to fish in peace. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You’re Tommy,” George had said, confident in his words. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You’re GeorgeNotFound,” he replied, matter-of-factly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Dream talks about you. Says you’re strange.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tommy neglected to answer him, bucketing another fish. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Dream likes you. I don’t get why though,” George continued. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I’m just that amazing,” Tommy deadpanned, snorting slightly to himself. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">They sat there for the rest of the evening, sitting in silence the entire time. George helped him cook the fish, then he also ate some so that was a con of the man being there. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Well, Tommy said man but he was sure George was only in his early twenties and clearly more immature than Tommy himself at twelve years of age. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">When they left, George gave him an arrow from his quiver.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tommy was still twelve when he stumbled upon his second golden apple. He hadn’t meant to eat it, but his eyesight was obscured in the dark no matter how much he had healed all those years ago and how the apple shouldn’t of shined when the moonlight hit it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He had mistaken it for a normal apple. He bit into it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He was twelve and his horns grew back, more glorious than ever, flourishing in the light his hair cast over the dry grass with shadows of gold and glitter. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He was twelve and his second golden apple made him sprout a tail. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The tail protruded from his lower back, soft fur ending in a tuft of luxurious curls that shone like Tommy’s hair. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tommy was twelve and cutting his horns off again. He was crying gold as the agony of it all doubled from last time, his body screaming at him to stop. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He was covered in gold and dirt as he brought an axe down on his tail, cutting it off at the stub. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He was twelve and started to bleed red. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Dream found him again, not long after Tommy had spent days curled up underground, wallowing in his own golden light that caused flowers to spring up from the stone. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tommy had been making his way to the village, bandage wrapped tightly around his waist where his tail used to be. The wound may have been silver by then but by Ender did it ache something fierce. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He wasn’t glowing by the time he reached the village and he was pretty sure he still had blood caked in his hair. It didn’t matter to him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It seemed to matter to Dream and the new player Badboyhalo who followed him for hours that day, whispering but not quietly enough that Tommy couldn’t hear them. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tommy had turned with a snarl, demanding “what?” He’d felt a phantom movement of his tail and gasped, almost doubling over at the feeling of loss his body amassed to but pushed through it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He ignored the two players trailing him after that. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tommy was twelve when Dream invited him to the smp. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I’m not a player.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I know.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">So Tommy said he’d think about it. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I don’t remember where this idea came from I’m pretty sure it was a prompt about Schlatt that I went so far from that you wouldn’t even recognise the prompt lmao. </p><p>Anyways, I do want to write more but I’m currently very unmotivated rip. </p><p>— Electric</p></blockquote></div></div>
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